The Baby Agenda (6 page)

And that was no lie. He didn't understand a damn thing he'd felt since he'd gotten that first email from her.

I think you deserve to know that I'm pregnant.

She'd thrown him for a loop from that moment on.

No, he thought, she'd done that from the moment she walked onto the terrace and straight to his dark corner.

“Well.” She took a deep breath. “You can see what I mean about the weight gain.”

“Actually…” Will frowned. “Your cheeks look thinner. Are you sure you're eating enough?”

Moira laughed, a flash of genuine humor that relaxed him. “You're kidding, right? Nobody has ever accused me of being skinny.”

“You have a perfect body.” And, damn, he was getting aroused.

She laughed again, but less happily, and looked down at her stomach. “Right.”

“I love the way you look.”

Her cheeks flushed, and he saw the shyness in her eyes. She mumbled. “Um…thank you.”

Why was she so determined to believe herself to be unattractive? Will wondered, puzzled. It couldn't be only the scumbag. Her doubts had to be more ingrained than that. Someday he'd find out, he promised himself. But that kind of question wasn't exactly the ideal opening salvo today.

“Will you have dinner with me?” he asked.

She looked around as if she'd find an excuse floating in the air like a dust mote, but finally took a deep breath.

“Yes. Sure. I suppose we should talk.”

Gee, thanks.
He'd only flown halfway around the damn world to see her.

Hiding his frustration, Will asked calmly, “What time do you close?”

“Five. I don't have any more appointments today.”

“All right. I'll be back at five.”

More color flowed into her cheeks, but she nodded. “Okay.”

“If you don't mind eating that early.”

“I could eat six times a day,” she told him ruefully.

He smiled at her, said, “You decide what sounds good,” and left.

He didn't go far, only to the parking lot. He'd brought a book, but thought he might close his eyes. He could set his cell phone to wake him up. At this point, Will's sense of time was so screwed up, he had no idea whether his body thought it should be the middle of the night or what. Mostly, he was disoriented. He'd gotten into SeaTac early this morning and surprised Clay and Jack, too, at the breakfast table. Scared the daylights out of them, actually, when he'd strolled in the door as if he'd been out getting the newspaper. Will grinned at the memory.

He got in his truck—not really his anymore, but Jack had let him drive it today—and pushed the seat back. He could tell the minute he closed his eyes that he wouldn't actually be able to sleep.

He was buzzing, in that irritating state where tiredness kept him awake. And simply being here felt strange, to put it mildly. Everything looked wrong, from the trees to the cars to the people driving them, all white. The smells were wrong. Even this morning, when he'd walked into the house where he had lived for most of his life, he'd almost felt as if he existed in two different dimensions. In one, he was where he belonged; he'd reached for his mug in the kitchen cupboard without thinking about it, poured coffee, known which shelf in the refrigerator the milk would be on. All the while, on another plane he had thought,
I'm not really here. I don't belong.

The weirdness of international travel, of being hurtled by an airplane that chased the setting sun from one continent to another, so that you had breakfast one morning in Africa and the next morning in Lynnwood, Washington, was partly to blame. But Will knew that it was more, that he
didn't
belong. He would never move back into that house, no matter what. Right now, not much would have drawn him home to Washington at all.

Only his redhead.

Even with his eyes shut, he saw her. Actually seeing her was as weird as being here. He knew her and yet he didn't. He'd had the best damn sex of his life with her, he'd sucked on her bare breasts, touched her everywhere, been
inside
her, and now he wondered nervously how she'd react if he kissed her.

Will gave a grunt that wasn't quite a laugh. With outrage, is how she'd react. They'd never even been out on a date. What they had done was meant by both of them to be something not quite real, remembered later as if it might have been a dream.

The most erotic dream in the world didn't result in pregnancy, however. Fate had apparently grinned wickedly and said, “Gotcha!”

He returned to her office at five on the nose to find Moira plucking a purse from a drawer and holding keys in her hand.

“Your partner's not around?” he asked.

She glanced his way. “No, Gray's at city hall. Or on city business, anyway. Did I tell you he's mayor?”

“No.” He frowned, not liking the implications. “You mean, you're the whole firm right now?”

“No, the mayoral gig, as he calls it, is part-time. He's putting in really long hours keeping up at least half his usual workload here, sometimes more,
and
being mayor.”

He stood aside as she locked the door. “Leaving you, almost five months pregnant, to keep your firm alive.”

“It's not Gray's fault I'm pregnant,” she said sharply.

Will winced.

They walked together outside, where the chill of evening was making itself felt as the sun dropped low on the horizon. A row of small hybrid maple trees marched along
the sidewalk, their leaves—a vivid orange—beginning to fall. One crunched under his foot.

“He isn't running for reelection.” Moira's head was bowed and her voice had become more subdued. “Because of me.” She touched her stomach. “He'll be out of office in January, about the time I'm due.”

I have family and friends,
she'd told him, and this was partly what she'd meant, Will realized. How good friends were she and this Gray?

“Why don't I drive?” he suggested. “I'll bring you back to your car later.”

“Fine.”

She hoisted herself into the cab of the pickup without too much trouble. Will reached to help her but she didn't see his hand and he let it fall as she settled into the seat. She was doing fine without him. She'd said that enough times.

When he got in, she suggested a restaurant right there in West Fork, and directed him. “It's mostly a steak house,” she said a little apologetically. “But I seem to be more of a carnivore these days than I used to be.”

He glanced at her belly and smiled. “Do you suppose every baby has his own tastes?”

“You mean, the next one might be a vegetarian?” Quickly she added, “Assuming I have another one.”

He ignored that. “Yeah, or be especially fond of…fish. Italian food. Nothing but Italian food.”

Moira sounded more relaxed. “Pregnant women are famous for their cravings.”

“Pickles.”

“Right. Charlotte—Gray's wife, who is eight months pregnant right now—has a thing for lemon-meringue pie. And lemon bars. Lemon pudding.” A dimple appeared in
her cheek. “The pudding, she says, is for emergency fixes. Otherwise, she keeps baking.”

Will laughed. “You?”

She sighed. “I don't dare. I put on weight if I take too deep a breath around fresh-baked goodies. Charlotte can afford the calories.”

“What's with the obsession about weight?” he asked.

Moira leveled a look at him. “I see the obstetrician every month. I get weighed. Then I get lectured.”

“Oh.”

“See, there's this ideal. You have to gain enough, but not too much. And I don't want to gain too much, because then it would be hard to lose it. As if,” she added gloomily, “it's not going to be hard enough to lose the weight anyway.”

“How much are you likely to gain?”

Her face was cute scrunched up in a grimace. “Like, twenty-five to thirty-five pounds.”

“And babies are, what, seven or eight pounds?”

“Right. You do the math.”

He did, silently. The baby wasn't all that came out when a woman gave birth, though, he knew that much. There was the umbilical cord, and after-birth, and whatever fluid the baby had been swimming in. Still…

“Do you plan to nurse?” he asked.

Moira gave him another look, this one startled and rather shy. “Yes.” Then, unnecessarily, she said, “This is it.”

“I see.” He pulled into the nearly empty parking lot of the River Fork Steakhouse. They were definitely beating the dinner crowd.

The place was nice in a casual way, the booths deeply padded, the lighting designed to give a sense of intimacy even when the restaurant was busier. Moira studied the
menu with more care than she probably needed, given that Will assumed she'd eaten here often. They both ordered steaks, baked potatoes and salads. She asked for a glass of milk. He'd have liked a beer, but didn't dare. With his luck and lack of sleep, even a little alcohol would probably knock him out, and he did have a forty-five-minute drive home after he dropped Moira off.

He felt a strange ache. He'd wanted her to run into his arms today when he walked in. He wanted to be going home with her, to see her new curves, unclothed, to sleep wrapped around her.

Yeah, and he'd have been scared to death if she'd flung herself at him. He was offering the minimum a decent man would offer, and no more. Better if they maintained a relationship that was cordial, not sexually charged. If they both forgot—or at least pretended to forget—how she'd gotten pregnant with his baby.

The silence between them was beginning to seem stifling, alone as they were in this part of the dining room.

Will reached out and touched the back of her hand. “I'm sorry. I did wear the condom.”

Beyond the faint quiver he'd felt beneath his fingertips, she didn't react. “I know. I saw.” She hesitated. “Thank you, for believing me.”

He nodded. After a minute, he said, “I'll expect to pay child support.”

Her eyes searched his. “I meant it when I said you didn't have to.”

“Yeah. I could tell. But I want to.”

She dipped her head once, in acknowledgment.

“I really am committed in Africa for two years. Actually, for just over a year and a half, now. But after that, I'll want visitation.”

Her lips compressed, but she nodded.

“You'd rather I ditched you?”

She couldn't hide her turmoil. “No. In some ways, it would be easier, but…” Her fingers drummed on the table. “I keep thinking about how much I wished my father cared at all.” She focused briefly on him. “I remember telling you that I didn't know him.”

“Yes.”

In a near whisper, Moira said, “This isn't the way I wanted to start a family. But…I wouldn't undo it, either. I just turned thirty-five, Will. If I was going to have a baby at all, it was going to have to be soon. I'm sorry I stuck you with responsibility, but otherwise…I'm glad, now that I'm over the first shock.”

“You knew for a long time before you emailed me,” he said slowly.

She nodded. “I thought about not telling you at all. You'd made pretty clear that you didn't want any future involvement.”

He closed his eyes. “If things had been different, I would have. I'd have called you the next day, Moira.”

Her half laugh was disbelieving. “It doesn't matter,” she said, although he suspected it did. “Gray chewed me out and said I had to tell you, that he'd be angry to find out he had a child he'd never been told about.”

“Then I owe him one.”

She didn't say anything; didn't believe he was grateful any more than she'd believed he actually liked her. Will wanted to shake her father and everyone else who'd ever made this woman feel unlovable.

The knowledge that he'd contributed curdled in his stomach. He'd screwed her then slipped away in the night. He couldn't quite convince himself that child-support
checks and occasional weekend visitation made him in any way noble or good.

Anger came to his rescue, roaring through him like the blustering winds of winter. What the hell else was he supposed to do? Throw over his life again? He'd done it once. Wasn't that enough?

He stared at her averted face, and had no idea what to say to make any of this better.

A
FTER THAT INCREDIBLY AWKWARD
dinner, Moira couldn't believe she'd invited Will to go with her to her monthly checkup with the obstetrician. And poor Will—he was likely horrified, but what could he say?

What he
had
said was, “I'd like that.”

Now she snorted. Probably he couldn't think of an excuse quick enough.

With a sigh, Moira got out of her car in front of the clinic, a block from the hospital. Thank goodness West Fork had a hospital. Otherwise she'd have had a half-hour drive to Everett when she was in labor. Even so, she was already worrying about getting to the delivery room when the time came. There had probably been pregnant women who'd had to drive themselves to the hospital. Hey, she could pull over to the shoulder every time a contraction hit.

Of course that was silly. She'd have a list of friends prepped to go. One of them was bound to be home.

Except, what if the baby decided to make an untimely appearance, when no one did expect to hear from her? Or—her new nightmare—what if a winter storm knocked out phone service and she
couldn't
call anyone?

She'd keep her cell phone charged.

But
their
phones might all be out.

Jeez,
she thought, disgusted with herself.
Then I stag
ger over to a neighbor's house and hammer on the door. Do I
need
to find things to worry about?

Will had arrived at the clinic ahead of her. The minute she walked into the waiting room, he rose from one of the chairs. “Moira,” he said, in that quiet, deep voice of his.

“You're here.” Oh, brilliant.

Pretending she hadn't said anything so inane, she checked in at the front desk and then they sat next to each other. They weren't alone. A very pregnant woman was in the corner, flipping through a magazine, and a couple holding hands had come in behind Moira. Their warmth and intimacy were so obvious, she had to tear her gaze from them.

When she looked at Will, it was to find him watching her, his brown eyes unreadable but his expression gentle. “I'll really be able to hear the heartbeat?” he asked.

“I'm sure the doctor will let you.”

His gaze lowered to her stomach. A couple of lines between his dark eyebrows had deepened, not quite in a frown, but as if… Moira wasn't sure. As if he was unsettled, maybe. “Moira Cullen?”

Moira stood automatically and turned toward the smiling nurse who held her chart. She was aware that Will had risen also and was following her.

The nurse said, “Oh, good. You brought the father today.”

“Uh…yes.”

She produced a small cup and handed it to Moira. “Why don't you give us your sample first, and then we'll weigh you.”

Will looked so horrified, Moira had to swallow a giggle even though she was probably blushing, too. She'd had
sex
with the man, for Pete's sake. Why should she be embarrassed to talk about peeing in front of him?

She was relieved when she came out of the bathroom to find the nurse, a comfortable woman in her fifties, had shown him to the exam room so that he didn't see her step on the scale. She had gained four pounds this month, which horrified her even though she knew it was normal. After spending a lifetime battling her weight, though, it was killing her to watch it climb.

The nurse led her to an exam room, which had never looked so small. Will really was a very large man, Moira realized afresh. He backed out of the way and wedged himself into the V between the table and the cabinet so that she could sit in the one visitor's chair to have her blood pressure and pulse taken. He seemed unwillingly fascinated, she thought, by the whole process.

The nurse finished up then. She told them the doctor would be a few minutes and left, closing the door behind her.

“I'll hop up on the exam table,” Moira said. “Then you can sit.”

“You don't have to get undressed?”

She shook her head and muttered, “Thank goodness.”

“You have to pee in a cup every month?”

“They're looking for protein in the urine and things like that. That's how they know if something's going wrong.”

“Huh.”

Having him sit didn't reduce the way he dominated the room. The effect was partly physical, partly just presence. It was funny, she thought, because Will didn't give the impression of arrogance, but she also couldn't imagine anyone not assuming that he was in charge on sight. He
was simply that kind of man. She doubted he ever had to raise his voice.

The door opened then, and Dr. Engel darted in. A tiny woman, she'd reminded Moira from the beginning of a hummingbird constantly hovering rather than settling in place. She listened, though, when Moira had questions, and answered without any impatience, her head tilted in a way that was birdlike, too.

“Marcia Engel,” she said, thrusting out her hand at Will.

“Will Becker. I'm the father.”

“Ah. I'm glad to see you here.” She took him in with one sweep of her bright blue eyes. “How much did you weigh at birth?”

He looked startled. “Almost ten pounds. My two brothers, too. My sister was eight and a half pounds.”

“Then chances are we can expect the same for this one, Moira. Well.” She set the open chart on the small counter and skimmed the newest information. “Things are looking good. I'm glad to see you putting on weight now.”

Moira made a face.

“She wasn't?” Will asked.

“Nausea,” the doctor said. “Not unusual, but always a concern.” She gave him a sharp look. “You didn't know?”

“I've been away.”

“Will and I don't live together,” Moira said. “He's being good enough to share responsibility for the baby, that's all.”

His mouth tightened, but he said nothing.

After one more appraising look, Dr. Engel ignored him and smiled at Moira. “Lie back now, please.” When Moira did, she raised her shirt and pushed down the waistband
of her maternity pants, exposing the freckled mound of her belly. Moira knew she was blushing, which seemed to be a redhead's curse. It was dumb. He'd seen her stomach before, and a whole lot more, but she couldn't make herself look at him.

Even so, from her peripheral vision she knew he was staring.

The doctor manipulated gently, then blew on the bell of her stethoscope to warm it before placing it on Moira. Listening intently, she moved it several times, and smiled. After a minute, she glanced at Will. “Would you like to listen?”

“Please.” He stepped forward, bent and slipped the earpieces of the stethoscope in place. He frowned. “I don't hear anything.”

Dr. Engel moved the bell half an inch, then, after a pause, another half inch. The expression on Will's face transformed. Now Moira couldn't help watching him, seeing what wonder did to the hard lines of his face.

“It's so fast,” he whispered.

“Normal for a baby.”

“I guess I knew that, but…” He kept listening, and when at last he removed the earpieces and handed the stethoscope back to the doctor, Moira could see his reluctance. “Amazing.” His eyes met hers. “You've heard it?” She nodded.

“Have you felt the baby move?” Dr. Engel asked him.

He shook his head and looked again at Moira's belly.

“Let's see.” The doctor gently pressed, sliding her fingertips around. Finally she reached for his hand and laid it where hers had been. Will's was so very large, it covered much of Moira's stomach. A movement came inside, the
flutter and swirl. Will stood very still, concentrating, then cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he said, sounding hoarse. “Wow.”

Dr. Engel pulled up the waistband of Moira's pants, drew down her shirt, said briskly, “One month,” and breezed out.

Moira shifted her weight to an elbow to lever herself up. Without a word, Will wrapped an arm around her and helped her to a sitting position.

“That's only going to get harder, isn't it?” He sounded amused.

“I've perfected the art of rolling out of bed.”

The amusement left his face. He was silent as they walked out and she scheduled her next appointment. Still quiet until they were in the parking lot.

“If you have an emergency, do you have someone to call?”

“Of course I do,” she said. “But I don't expect an emergency.”

“No.” He had that look on his face, the not-quite-a-frown one. “Four more months.”

Moira nodded, unlocked her car door and opened it.

He gripped the top of the door and watched as she got in and put on the seat belt. “I'd like to see you again,” he said quietly. “Before I go.”

Her throat felt clogged, as if she wanted to cry.

When she didn't say anything immediately, his hand tightened until his knuckles turned white. But his voice stayed calm. “You're not comfortable with me, are you?”

Breathe in, breathe out.
A chance to practice her Lamaze techniques, Moira thought a little hysterically.

“I don't know why you're here,” she said. “You can't possibly want this baby.”

“You don't know what I want.” The timbre of his voice had roughened.

She stared at him fiercely. “Be honest. You were horrified when you got my email.”

“Shocked,” Will admitted after a moment. “Yeah, I was. I'll bet you were, too, when you first suspected.”

“Yes.” She had to be honest. Not just shocked: terrified. She wasn't going to tell him that. “But I do want the baby now. What I don't want is to…oh, count on you in any way then have you back out. Do you understand? It's not money, it's…everything.” She hardly knew what she meant herself. It was dumb to feel so distraught when she didn't even know why she did. “I don't want her to count on you if you're not going to stick it out.”

His gaze flicked to her belly. “Her? Do you know it's a girl?”

“No.” Oh, damn, damn. Her voice was thick, and she
would not
cry. “I was just…”

“Talking about yourself,” he said softly.

They stared at each other.

“Maybe,” she whispered.

Will circled the car door and squatted close to her.

“Have you told your mother yet?”

Moira bowed her head and saw a tear splash onto her maternity top and soak in. She took an angry swipe at her face. “No. I don't know why. I…keep putting it off.”

“Like you put off telling me.”

“I'm used to doing things for myself. I'm
good
at taking care of myself.” It seemed important that she convince him. She didn't want him feeling guilty in some way.

“I'm not telling you that I need you,” she said, looking fully at him despite a nose that had probably resembled Rudolph's. “I just want to know. If you're going to send support checks, that's great, but then…then don't come
and see me, and be nice, and…” Crap. Her vision was blurring again and she hated herself. She was doing the absolute last thing in the world she wanted to do, which was laying a guilt trip on him. “No,” she said suddenly. “No, I don't want to see you again. All right? My hormones are going crazy, and I'm up and down, and I'm confused about you, and I don't want to see you tomorrow or the next day when you won't be around again for another six months.”

Something happened to his face, although she couldn't see clearly and didn't want to. She thought it contorted briefly. Then he stood so she couldn't see it at all.

“All right.” His voice was low and scratchy. “Thank you for this. For today. Please keep letting me know how you are. Will you?”

She swallowed and nodded.

After a moment, he said, “Goodbye,” closed her door and walked away.

Moira sat with tears running down her face until she saw his pickup drive out of the parking lot and knew he was gone. And she didn't even know why she felt like her heart was breaking.

 

F
OUR DAYS LATER
, Will got on the goddamn airplane and felt like scum. Worse than scum. All he could see was her face, all he heard was the way her voice broke when she said, “Then don't come and see me, and be nice, and…”

Every time he thought about her, he felt as if his guts were spilling out, and it
hurt.

He shouldn't have come at all. She was right. They
didn't
mean anything to each other, and he'd let himself start thinking they did, as if there must be a connection between them if they were having a baby together. He'd never imagined having a child with a woman who wasn't
his wife, a woman he didn't love. Somehow he'd turned things around in his head and gotten to believing he felt things he didn't. That was all this was.

He closed his eyes and ignored his seatmates, who seemed to be ignoring each other, too. Three strangers, compelled by circumstances to sit shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, for hours.

It was all Will could do not to jump up, grab his carry-on and bulldoze his way off the airplane before the door was shut. But he sat where he was, muscles locked with the effort not to move, and thought,
What the hell's wrong with me?

Torturing himself this way was stupid. Moira had a mother, she had friends. Single women had babies all the time. He could tell she meant it when she said she really wanted this child. There wasn't a reason in the world she wouldn't do fine without him.

So why was it killing him to know that he wouldn't be in the States for another five or six months? That she'd already have had the baby by then? That at best he'd have a brief visit before he was off again?

The expressions on his brothers' faces when he told them hadn't helped. He'd done it last night at the dinner table.

“This woman,” Clay had said slowly, as though to be sure he understood, “is having your baby while you're off in Africa.”